Better Left Unsaid
by vkdemon
Summary: mute!Stiles AU Stiles has a special power. His voice makes people obey him. After realizing this power Stiles refuses to speak and is considered mute by the entire town. Derek begins to notice. Occurs during the end of season 1.
1. Nobody's Listening

**Title:** Better Left Unsaid  
**Pairing**: Sterek  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings:** blood, violence, superpower, mute!Stiles, disjointed Stiles!POV  
**Summary: **mute!Stiles AU Stiles has a special power. His voice makes people obey him. After realizing this power Stiles refuses to speak and is considered mute by the entire town. Derek begins to notice. Occurs during the end of season 1.  
**Prompt:** From the Teen Wolf Kink Meme  
**AN:**Much love to Charli for being such a sweet dear to me in my first entry into the sterek pack and to Kat for betaing this fic so swiftly and giving me lots of wonderful feedback.

Chapter 1: Nobody's Listening

Superpowers suck. Like completely suck. Suck sohard they should be called hoovers because of the veracity of suckitude.

Case in point: One Stiles Stilinski, average height, average hair color, average teammate. He was born with a gift. Some would say his crazy smartness was a gift, or maybe his ability to fly into the sun with a million different theories and thoughts about life, the universe, and why socks get lost in the laundry. No, these were not his gift. His gift was the ability to command. A natural dominant one might say. If they were stupid. And not living with the fucked up condition. No it sucked and Stiles would tell you.

Really.

He would tell you.

Right out loud.

Except if he told you then you would find out that simple words like 'you are a moron' would actually induce you into truly and fully believing you were a moron. He'd done it to Scott accidentally in the 3rd grade. He'd tried to fix it by telling Scott he wasn't 'that' dumb. And look at Scott now. Pathetically unaware of his dumbness.

Sucks.

So living for 8.. 9... lots of years without speaking has left Stiles with a few odd hang ups. Like people who don't listen. People don't listen to him all the time. It's simple. He has a dry-erase board and he had neat hand-writing. So what if his letters are really small and he fills up the entire board. He has a lot to say! Aaaand he's almost always right. People just aren't listening. Like Scott, who loses interest half way through reading. And Stiles is the one who has ADHD, duh! Or Lydia, who takes one look at the board and sneers, walking away with pretty little heels, clicking on the floor. Jackson's the worst. He loves to take Stiles' board- the only method of communication with the outside world- and write shit on it like 'PENIS' and 'FREAK' and TL;DR. And of course Stiles keeps his mouth shut. Because if he didn't...

Bad shit, okay? Just bad shit, that Stiles hates remembering.

But they don't listen. Getting back on the damned topic. They don't listen when Stiles summarized all the werewolf research for Scott, so he would know that the full moon was bad news. They don't listen when he texts Lydia to make sure she's safe at the dance. They don't listen when he needed help with a DYING Derek. Seriously Derek is the worst! There is absolutely no one he has ever wanted to shout his lungs out at more than Derek.

Derek, who slams him into walls. Who growls and snaps and demands he 'spit it out' already. Stiles would love to spit it out. He'd love to make the big bad terrifying wolf his bitch. He'd order Derek down on his knees. Bow Derek down. How awesome would that be? Then undress Derek. And then bend over. Stiles would... Stiles pressed his heel of the palm to his crotch, trying to keep the thoughts away because popping a boner in class was seriously not cool. Bad Stiles, no thinking about Derek. Derek is off-limits for the Stiles brain. He was in ... what did his book say? Chemistry. Think about Chemistry! He looked up and frowned. Wait- since when did Coach Flintstock teach Chem? Oh shit! Not Chem... wrong book. Damn, Derek was messing him up.

He was called on, of course. Only his grand smartness- and the fact that reading your econ chapter, while warming the bench in lacrosse was the only full-proof way of not having to do suicide runs every practice- saved Stiles from giving the wrong answer. Coach Flintstock was just as abusive to Stiles as everyone else, and he had to admit he appreciated it. Well... when it didn't benefit him that is. Being the poor, sad, mute kid meant none of his other teachers would even call out on him. It made researching things, like a big bad alpha hunting his best friend down, easier. It also led him to boredom. Which was bad. Really bad. Because he started worrying. About like, everything, and everyone. About the alpha. About Scott and Allison being totally obvious. About Jackson's evil eye over his last attempt to woo Lydia. About Derek, alone in the freaking forest. Seriously where did that guy even sleep? In the broke-down house? Or a hotel somewhere? Or like some penthouse... wait... there weren't any penthouse apartments in Beacon Hills. Seriously he needed to stop thinking so much. Where could a wolf even live without other wolves being able to find him?

The alpha was hunting Scott, and going to make him kill. Number one most likely victim, was Stiles. So if an Alpha smelled a certain way, wouldn't he track it back with him, into whatever place he called home? Wait... crap no. Derek said that the wolf form smelled different than the human form. But if the alpha killed, wouldn't the blood of the victim still be on his hands when they became human hands again? But if you don't know what scent to track, then you can't trace the blood. So maybe they needed a victim that one of the wolves knew the scent of and could follow. BRILLIANT!...

Crap, he just threw his hands up...

During Lunch...

"What the hell is wrong with you Stilinski?" Jackson growled.

Stiles ducked his head and gathered up his books. He gave Jackson the universal sign of fuck off, with his hand, and walked off. He had an Alpha to catch, Bitches!


	2. Miscommunication

Chapter 2: Miscommunication

Plans for catching the Alpha were waylaid by a text from Scott. It was pathetic. Really pathetic. Really how else did Scott Wolfy McFluffyButt think dating a hunter's daughter was going to go? It was simple. They read Romeo and Juliet last year. Spoiler alert! Everyone cool ended up dead. So Scott and Allison would kill themselves, and Allison's cousin would die because of Scott's best friend. Though there was no cousin so maybe Lydia as gal pal? Lydia was Tybalt; she was vain enough. And he was Scott's best friend so... wait... he was Mercutio. At least Mercutio was a satirical witty fucker.

But seriously, everyone like, died. And as annoying as Scott and Allison's romance was to the pathetic, single, mute kid he really didn't want them to die. Which was why he should look for the Alpha... After alcohol. Booze was like awesome, by the way. It made everything sound awesome. Like, he could think of a million great awesome ideas, and ways to fix everything. It was all about blood.

See his blood was like human, because he was human. And if he was human, then his blood would smell different. But the Wolves needed to smell it. And here he was in the woods. With a wolf. He texted Scott, who was right next to him. _show me ur claws_

Scott being completely wrapped up in the floating, laughing sensation that the drink gave, flopped his hand on over. Stiles watched as the finger nails elongated, going from little properly cared-for-crescents into spikes-of-death. They were kind of pretty—deadly, but pretty. Like they were long, and the way Scott's hand was flexing, and the length of the fingers was real majestic, or something. Stiles reached out. Okay so no nicking any veins and no preventing him from typing out texts. He would need to spill blood, not hurt his chances at doing anything. He placed the claws right over the soft brown hair on his forearm. It was away from any delicate veins.

Scott's head tilted, a soft confused whine starting. _Normal_. Scott was always confused by the world. Stiles didn't think that would change if he did talk. Stiles placed his not-to-be-sliced-open hand on top of Scott's paw. He slammed it down, a high pitch whimper of pain jolting from him. And theeeen Scott realized it.

"Holy shit Stiles! What did you? Why are you- what! You're bleeding!"

Stiles just rolled his eyes. That was the point, but he didn't want to get blood all over his phone to send Scott an explanation text. Instead he let a hiss of air through his lips. It hurt. Like, it _seriously_ hurt. Like Oh My Fucking God with the burning. Stiles seriously underestimated how well alcohol would be used as anesthetic. Okay, power through Stiles.

Scott clasped his hand over the wound to try and stop the bleeding. He was making low keening sounds in the back of his throat. Stiles would have really loved to tell Scott to shut up, but he was bleeding, and his phone was in his pocket. He had to be silent, again. Just accept Scott's bumbling attempts to apply pressure. At least this way the scent would be all over Scott's hands, right? There was no way he could not know Stiles's blood scent now.

Scott howled- like _ouch!_ Loud wolf-howl right _in his ear_. Not fun. Not nice. And then he was being lifted! Thrown actually, right over a certain wolf's shoulder. Stiles mouth opened, about to shout at the guy to put him down. Instead he groaned. Great, now he was bleeding _and_ being carried over a shoulder through the woods by a drunk werewolf who he couldn't communicate with, because his cell had fallen out of his pocket. And it was swiftly fading from sight, as it lay beside Scott's cell phone. Fucking hell, this could not get any worse.

Scott skidded to a stop in front of the Hale house and howled.

Stiles would really like for life to stop proving him wrong.


	3. Body Language

Chapter 3: Body Language

Derek Hale was a big guy. Like sure, Stiles had been shoved against walls by Derek before. Apparently his favorite phrases were 'Stop that' and 'stay home'. Really Stiles didn't feel like doing either most times. So when he was hefted along to the wreck of a Hale house, the hysterical giggle bubbled- out making Scott jump. Stiles couldn't stay home now, could he? He'd be staying at Derek's home. At the sourwolf's den, and wouldn't the man just _hate_ that. He'd probably ignore stiles, probably tie his hands down so he couldn't talk, couldn't text; couldn't do anything. He'd be trapped, and helpless- unless he wanted to speak. And then he could command Derek to do _anything_. To dance in a tutu. To crow, to release him, to go down on his knees and show him some sexual affection. Stiles grinned like an idiot. And then Stiles could become a fucking rapist. He pitched forward, the alcohol and the horror of his own thoughts spewing on the dusty floorboards.

For once he's happy for the growling voice demanding to know what the hell happened. It distracted him from the possibility of what could happen if Stiles ever slipped up his control. It's not like Stiles was a saint. He used it on his dad a few times when he had really really needed case information, because _werewolves_. He'd voided his stomach for a week. One more mark on the 'Stiles is going to hell list.' Oh... he was being lifted.

Derek's snarling muzzle was in view and Stiles couldn't help but grin a little. Derek was such a sourwolf. It was like his face showed all of his emotions against his will. Look it was anger, again. He wanted to write out "It's just a little blood" but his phone... was not in his pocket and his whiteboard was in his bag... with his phone...in the woods next to the alcohol. Fuck.

Derek's hands were on his ripped up arm, the older man barked an order to Scott and the younger yanked off his shirt. It was wrapped around Stiles' arm, applying pressure to the wound like a smart person with first aid knowledge. You know, like a dude with a nurse for a mom. Come on dude he had to know something! But no talking for the Stiles, so he settled for some very reproachful glaring at the young beta.

"What! I know how to fix burns. And when a tetanus shot is needed. This is a little beyond me!" Scott whined. Communication by glare was clearly a win.

Derek was glaring... But not at Scott, at the arm. Like by intimidation alone, Stiles' arm would clot and knit back up leaving only a thin white scar. Another of many scars to add to the list of look-what-helping-my-best-were-friend-Scott-got-me -into-now marks. Freaking werewolves. Freaking claws. And their freaking enemies, who had claws or guns. Why was everyone so deadly? Why couldn't they all just get along? Bake some pot brownies. Sing some campfire songs. That would be wonderful...

Scott looked constipated. And Derek... looked... Glares are really hard to describe you know. Like this was a broody glare. Like he was trying... Oh! Stiles realized he'd been trying to communicate his entire internal dialog by the hand motions of one hand. Whoops. Derek disregarded him.

"Where's your phone?" Derek barked at Stiles.

"I think we dropped it in the woods." Scott answered for him.

Stiles stared. _Where is your phone..._ His heart fluttered. _Where is YOUR phone._ It was said directly to him. Not to Scott. Not asking Scott. Okay this probably wouldn't make any sense to anyone else... But seriously, Derek could ravish his body forever, never let stiles come and just use him- with how grateful Stiles felt. People Don't just talk to you when you're disabled. They don't. If they need something they ask your able bodied friend. So instead of "Hey Stiles, can I borrow your homework?" It's always "Hey Scott, can I borrow Stiles' homework?" like Stiles isn't sitting RIGHT there with a fully functioning brain to comprehend the words. Like he's not capable of making decisions on his own. Like he's less than human.

Derek was cussing at Scott. He was livid. And Scott ran out the door of the Hale house. Derek's eyes were on him again.

"It hurt that bad?" The Sourwolf's voice softened.

Stiles shook his head, waving with his good hand that nothing was wrong. He wiped clear the moisture that had gathered at his eyes. Stupid emotions. Stupid society.

"You're drunk. And stupid," Stiles knew that, Derek. Thanks for being Mr. Obvious-wolf. "It might be deep enough to change you."

Stiles eyes went wide, his mouth opened and closed like a wide mouth bass. No. Nononono, shit! He wasn't supposed to be wolf! He was supposed to be human, like-super-human-non-wolfy-totally-trackable-human . He was going to save Scott from being a murderer, and protect Derek and be a hero in the only way he could. And now this! This sucked!

"What the fuck were you doing getting drunk in the middle of the woods, anyway!... Don't give me that finger. You're _underage_, Stiles! You shouldn't be drinking. There could have been Hunters! Don't give me that look. You think they care if you're human? They will kill you, too,"

Stiles huffed. Kill, kill, death, maim, kill. Everything wanted to kill Stiles. What was new about that? "When Scott gets your phone, you're going to promise me to go home and _stay there_.

"I mean it Stiles! I don't need to worry about you, on top of everything else!" As if Derek actually worried about him. He was fine, always fine.

"No you're not. You're just some weak human, you could get killed so easily, Stiles," Stiles rolled his eyes. Whatever. Derek was a worry-wart. Join the club.

"Fine don't listen to me. I'm not saving your ass next time!" Derek tied off the impromptu bandage and drug Stiles by his other arm out to Mr. Sourwolf's sports car. Once Scott came back with phone and backpack, Mr. I-don't-talk-while-driving-pissed-off dropped him off at his house. Stiles waited exactly 25 minutes for Mr. I-want-to-run-everyone's-life to get back to the Hale house, before sending a text.

_From Stiles: Bite me_


	4. Sympathy from the Devil

Chapter 4 - Sympathy from the Devil

A howl echoed in the night and Stiles felt a shudder up his spine. He leaned as far out his window as he could. The Alpha was out; it was running, searching—probably- for Scott. He tucked his phone into the pocket of his red hoodie and went out the door. Time to deal with the Big Bad Alpha Wolf.

Stiles was in his car, following the howl. The Alpha was calling out to its kind, seeking pack. Stiles' hackles rose. Damned Alpha should get the hell out of his town. He had enough problems taking care of with Scott being a dumb ass and Derek being a Sourwolf. Stiles needed to care for them, protect them from themselves.  
The night stretched out, Stiles found himself in the car park. Stiles ears played tricks on him. He could hear his own heavy breathing and thought it was the Alpha's. He turned every direction, fingering the blade he kept on him in his pocket. He pulled it up with his uninjured hand. Right as he got a hold he was thrown from his feet, his body thrown into the side of the nearest car. Which was… his poor jeep.

He turned fast as he could, his eyes locking of the Alpha as it transformed. The huge black beast melted into a middle aged man with glowing eyes. And the man tilted his head, smirking like Stiles was a puzzle to be taken apart.

"Boy who runs with wolves. You know those kinds of stories never turn out well for the human right, Stiles? It is Stiles, isn't it? Your friend Scott mewls it when frustrated often enough. Not very bright that one. Good thing he has a friend like you to help him," Peter Hale began to circle Stiles.

Stiles gulped once, his mind going frantic, looking everywhere he could to try to find an exit.

"Listen to that. Lub-dub, lub-dub," Peter tapped his hand over his own heart in imitation of Stiles speeding pulse. "You sound like a rabbit. Delicious."

Stiles scattered backward, his back slamming into the nearest car. Fuck! He needed to focus, stop panicking. He had to get his scent on the Alpha and now that Stiles knew what he looked like he'd be able to help find him. In a blink he was gasping as Peter's clawed hand dug into his throat. Well looks like he didn't need to worry about how his blood would be spilled.

"It's a wonder you've stayed alive so long Stiles. You smell like prey. You are so frightened, aren't you? And you are desperate to call out to anyone. I could open your phone, dial your little friend Scott and you wouldn't even be able to shout for help. It's horrible isn't it? To be helpless?"

Peter released Stiles' neck, watching with a concerned tilt of his head as the boy coughed violently and covered his throat with his hand. Stiles body slid down against the car, his feet unable to hold him. Peter crouched down right in front of him, his smile deceptively caring. "I know your pain, you know. Being trapped in a fault shell of a body that refuses to obey you. That refuses to do what you plead and demand it to do. I was trapped like that for so many years. Listening to the mewling of my nephew. Trying to break free. You want to break free of your disability don't you? I could give you that, Stiles. The Bite. Bring you into my fold. It will be transformative,"

This dude was a fucking psychopath. Stiles stared; shocked the dude was even able to come up with these things. What in the mind of this crazy ass dude told him that offering to make someone you attacked into a strong opponent was a good idea? Seriously! Stiles rolled his eyes at the speech.

"Shut up,"

Peter's mouth snapped shut.


	5. Turnabout is Never Fair

AN: Short chapter but I wanted to get it to you before life eats me this week.

Chapter 5 - Turnabout is Never Fair

He couldn't speak. Not a word could be uttered. The Alpha's mouth gaped like a fish, as the once cowering boy straightened. The frightened prey was gone, and feral red rings formed around Stiles' eyes. Peter wanted to growl, to try to stand his ground. Stiles took a step toward him and he scrambled back, his ass hitting the ground. This was impossible! Stiles was the damaged little human pet of Derek's Rag Tag Pack. He wasn't supposed to be...

Peter's head tilted as he realized what he was looking at. The revelation stuck in his tongue as the boy opened his mouth again.

"I am tired of you trying to hurt my friends! I am tired of your fake sympathy. I am tired of your pathetic attempt at comparing us. You are just a bitter shell, filled with vitriol and greed, that knows nothing of love, or joy, or loyalty!"

Peter whimpered, a pain searing in the back of his eyes as the words spewed out of the boy. His memories, the good ones he barely retained began to sear his skull. He was just trying to create a new Pack. His niece had been an unfortunate casualty. She had realized what he was. The regret, it was honest most days, burned out of him leaving the knowledge that he should feel guilt. All he could understand was contempt for Derek, for his ability to remain alive, when Peter's own siblings and children had burned to ash before his eyes. He hated Derek Hale; nothing could savehim from the pounding unyielding hate for his nephew, and all creatures that lived while his family had died. Peter knew this wasn't him, he could remember not being... so empty.

"And now I used the voice, the voice I hate. I've killed with this voice! I can do it again! I should do it again, to you. I could make you do anything... I just have to say the words. So remember that, next time you come near any of my friends. If I see you come anywhere near them, I will make you rip out your own heart and offer it to me on a platter!"

Peter cringed away, curling himself into a tight ball against the hubcap. "You know what. Since you feel such pity for me, why don't you do it? Be weak like me, mute. You can't speak at all for a week. You're going to stay right there until you can't hear my heartbeat."

Peter watched the terrifying boy walk away and he obeyed. Like the most simpering of Omegas. A clawing hunger rose in his throat. He wanted to have that boy. He needed to have that power. He no longer needed to possess the newly changed pup, not when he could take the power of the boy named Stiles.


	6. Talk To Me

Derek could smell it. He'd tried to track that damned Alpha for the last 6 months. He knew the scent better than the ashes in his family's home. And it was on Stiles. It sunk into the clothing that piled into the hamper in the east corner of his room. Derek's hands pulled until he found the shirt that held that scent. He snarled, sneezing when the false floral of Stiles' air freshener stopped him from seeking further. He's sprayed the shirt with it. Contrary to the advertisement Febreeze did not eliminate odor. It did make it harder to smell through the musk. He couldn't get a tell for how old the scent was. The basket went flying, smashing into the bed and splaying its contents over the furniture.

There was another smell! Derek growled at the laundry. The smells were too mixed to pick it out. It was so familiar, like a warm cider in winter. It didn't connect to a memory, more of a feeling. Glaring at the laundry he was found by Stiles. He knew it was Stiles even if his scent was obscured by the ridiculous AXE bath-wash he used. He spun, knowing the blue of his wolf-eyes were glowing by the way Stiles' heart beat sped.

Derek knew the boy was hiding something. He didn't start texting him immediately. Not that he needed it. He could tell Stiles was going to try to distract him. He wasn't sure how, but Stiles was so... expressive. He would almost feel the emotions. He growled, and slammed Stiles into the wall. "Why do your clothes smell like the Alpha! When did you see the Alpha! Where are you hurt?"

Stiles coughed, the wind knocked out of his body by the rough handling. He wasn't responding. He wasn't signing or giving those little eye-moves that meant exasperation or anger or pain. He wasn't curling that cocky little smile. He looked blank like the essence of what was Stile had been drained leaving the hollow shell of a boy. Derek growled, crowding the boy back against the wall until only a breath of space remained. Only then did his expression change. Stiles glanced to Derek's lips and then back at his eyes.

Stiles wasn't giving him anything. Derek hated that hardness in the brown eyes. Derek wished he knew if it had always been there, or if the advent of werewolves and the supernatural had jaded him.

"Why?" His volume lowered, but the anger in his words never wavered.

Stiles shrugged.

"When?"

Another shrug.

"Stiles, you need to tell me. You shouldn't be alive,"

Shrug the third.

Derek dropped Stiles' jacket. He stormed across the room, his fists balling in an effort to not lash out against the difficult teen. Stiles calmly started to gather the mess Derek had made. His actions were calm, and Derek wondered how many werewolf messes he'd silently handled. How much weight were those shoulders holding. Derek reached out, almost touching the back of Stiles' neck. He watched the short hair prick upward right before he touched. Derek doesn't connect. He was bad at this. Bad at emotion. He needed to take action. Derek wanted to pretend he couldn't see Stiles' posture droop.

"Don't go near the Alpha. I don't know how you survived, but don't try that again. It's not safe. I have enough trouble trying to keep Scott alive. I don't need you, too,"

Stiles would not turn face him. A frustrated huff lasted and he was out of Stiles' window and he could smell the tears falling behind him.


	7. A Little Less Conversation

"I don't understand how he survived," Derek sat on his uncle's hospital bed.

The unmoving scarred man was silent, still as he had been for years. Derek never told Scott, or Stiles about his uncle. The destroyed man was his entire family now. It was a private part of himself, something he didn't want Scott or Stiles to interact with. He growled, his hands opening toward Peter.

"Please Uncle. I need you. I don't know what I'm doing. There's a rogue alpha and the idiot new wolf, Scott, won't let me help him. Stiles is a danger to himself. He pisses me off. He's careless, reckless, stubborn. He acts like he can heal like any of us. I know he saw the alpha. I fucking know it but he survived. Uncle! Talk," Derek's voice cracked like the lonely child he was. "Please."

Peter did try to speak. Honestly. but the boy's curse stopped him from uttering a sound. Instead he watched his nephew's pain. It wasn't his problem. Derek was dead to him from the moment he admitted that he'd betrayed the pack with Kate Argent. Derek was the weakest in the family, what right did he have to still live? Derek was lucky his pet human stopped his tongue.

Derek screamed, as usual. The boy had such a temper. Peter's faithful nurse stopped the raging beta. She was such a good girl. He really should reward her with something. Perhaps the same gift Stiles gave him. Silence. Her pulse across his tongue from her opened throat hours later he felt the blood lust rise. He needed more.

This was just human blood against his tongue. It barely staved off the insatiable hunger for one particular frail seeming boy. Peter could already taste the power. Stiles would increase his abilities ten-fold. He was alpha, but the boy he turned was resisting his call. That was unacceptable. With Stiles' power, well Peter would be unstoppable. Now all he needed to do was find a way to silence him before killing him. Or perhaps just distract him.

~~

"It was terrible! There was blood like everywhere," Scott whined at school the next day. Everyone was alight with the horrible murder of the nurse at the hospital.

'The strength of the carotid artery is enough to take pulse from. Of course it would spray everywhere.' Stiles texted Scott. 'Did your mom know her?'

"Duh, my mom knows all of them. The girl was assigned to the catatonic ward. People liked her. This is out of control. I have to confront the Alpha," Scott's eyes flashed gold.

In a sudden flail of limbs and SRS BIZNIZ face, Stiles stopped Scott's advance. He signed as fast as he thought Scott could keep up with. 'No no no no. Especially no!' He emphasized the last sign by making his motion abrupt and jerking. 'Do you want to get killed? We have to be smart about this! You can't do it alone.'

"No Stiles. I'm tired of running! I'm taking this guy down before he hurts anyone else," Scott pushed Stiles to the side.

'Idiot!' Stiles jogged again to block his path. 'You're just going to die. I don't want you to die. You're my best friend. It's so not fair to leave me alone and friendless. Who's going to be friends with the mute kid? Nobody! I'll be in the dumpster. Can you live with being the cause of dumpster Stiles? Can you?'

Scott stared blankly, having lost track of the signs about halfway through Stiles' rant. He growled at his best friend. "No. I'm doing this. I finally have to end it,"

'Derek.' He and Scott had agreed on the sign of sour wolf which consisted of miming claws over Stiles' mouth before making the motion of elongating the mouth into a muzzle enough it was a much more effective symbol than spelling Derek's name. Thankfully Mr. grouchy wolf himself didn't speak ASL. 'can help. I can help. Don't do this alone.'

"I don't trust him. And you can't do anything Stiles. Just go home. I'll handle this alone," He pushed past Stiles, stopping the thin boy from making anymore signs. Stiles hated being cut off.

He needed to stop Scott's moron plan. He was going to get himself killed! So he sent texts.

'He's going to kill you'

'That's dead as in never coming back'

'Or he could make you kill.'

'alpha and scotty sitting in a tree K-I-L-L-I-N-G'

'You could kill me.'

'Or Allison since that's probably more important to you.'

'Dammit Scott do not make me use extreme measures!'

'I will call your mother!'

Finally he got a text back. 'I'm doing this.'

Fuck! Of all the moron ideas of moron town that Scott ever had. This was worse than the time they burnt the oven with their Lava Cake Turbo Sugar Rush of Doom Prototype 2. Seriously he and Scott should never be left unsupervised. Stiles had to reach out for help. God he hated having to do this.

'Derek. I need your help.'


	8. Hope You Guessed My Name

"Other than Scott being a huge moron, why the hell is he trying to attack the Alpha alone? Stupid."

Derek was in Stiles car. The fact that Stiles had to drive did not limit the amount of exasperated waving of hands. Derek tasted blood as another abrupt jerking turn caused him to be thrown into the car door.

"Stop trying to talk while you drive! You don't heal!"

Stiles took his eyes from the road long enough to shoot Derek with the indignant face. His eyebrows offset from each other and and his mouth scrunched. Derek flashed ice blue eyes at him and the fear caused Stiles' eyebrows to even high on his forehead. His head jerked back to the road.

Derek was positive Stiles was damaged in the head for how little he cared for his own safety. He was hiding so much. Derek knew Stiles was lying, even if he never said anything. the wolf could feel the lies in every fake smile and every casual roll of the shoulder.

Finally they were at the hospital in a parked car.

"Stiles, why are we here? You said Scot was attacking the alpha."

Derek slammed the door shut, his senses open. The hospital was a perfect place for a wolf to hide. There were so many scents passing through on top of acrid chemicals and continually washing sheets that pinpointing anyone was a trial. Stiles was looking everywhere, his body brimming with nervous energy.

"Telling you to stay in the car won't work will it?" Derek is greeted with the 'no shit, Sherlock' eye-roll. "Fine, stay close."

They enter the hospital where all the corridors are too bright and the nurses are jumpy. He moves past, tracing not the scent of blood so much as the scent of familiarity. "That nurse that died... did they say any patients were missing?"

Stiles shrugged as his heart sped. Derek was onto something, but what? Stiles followed to a room, it was taped off with police lines and he ducked under it without a care. Good to know Stiles and Derek had the same opinion on police protocol.

"Stiles. This is bad. This is my uncle's room."

A flailing of arms and a few emphasizing bangs on the wall were more than enough for Stiles' annoyance to show. Derek didn't have time to mollify the boy. "This is a problem. I didn't know he healed. Now he's gone. I should have realized. So obvious..."

His little self-hatred is cut off short when he turns back around. Stiles is staring wide-eyed at him with a strip of duck tape over his mouth and Peter Hale holding his arms. "Hello Nephew."


End file.
